Seasons
by ATILT
Summary: An imagining of Rosalie's human life beginning a few years before her transformation in four parts. Parallels and intersects story of Movements of the Earth. Canon
**Chapter 1: The Ball**

 _December 1930_  
I examined the dress that lay across my bed critically as I entered the sanctum of my boudoir. The deep green of the silk would certainly bring out my eyes, though I was skeptical about the cut's ability to maximize the curves in my figure. Still, the embroidered flowers and fashionable short sleeves were sure to distinguish me at next week's ball. The dressmaker had done a sufficient job, I concluded, turning to my mirror to scrutinize my appearance. I tucked an errant golden curl back into the ribbon from which it had escaped, my eyes sweeping my reflection for any flaw, stopping at the small red birthmark nearly invisible on my neck that my hair normally covered. An artfully loose curl subtly covered this irksome spot.

Satisfied that I looked presentable enough for now, I returned downstairs to where mother was chatting with that gossip that she called a friend.

"Ah, Rosalie, dear," mother called as I walked by the sitting room. "Come sit and talk with us. Gloria is telling me some very _interesting_ news."

I stifled a sigh of frustration and fixed a tight smile on my face as I entered the room, lit up in amber in the light of the setting sun.

"Mrs. Landip," I said politely, nodding deeply at the toad-like woman. I was sure she had raced to our house soon after hearing the latest gossip. She positively thrived on knowing the pulse of Rochester's elite, and mother kept her well in treats and compliments in direct proportion to the information she passed along. I pictured her peering through our window shades in the evening just to pounce on the newest tidbit.

"Mother, I had hoped to meet up with Shirley and Joan to search for new gloves at Montgomery's before it closes," I said quickly, hoping to avoid the endless cups of tea and mindless chatter of mother's gossipy friends. "My white ones simply won't match the new gown. And Joan's are nearly worn through at the tips! It's simply shameful!" In normal situations, throwing an acquaintance of her friend at her as a piece of news was a sure fire way of gaining an exit.

Mother's face tightened, the smile growing more fixed on her face. I had miscalculated. "Of course my dear! But first come sit with us for a while," her calculated tone was light but commanding. "Give Gloria a chance to see you."

Mother's tone brooked no room for a quick flight. "Of course, Mother," I replied obediently, entering and perching on the stiff Victorian chaise. I should have known that a conversation with Gloria Landip provided a matchmaking opportunity, and another time for her to assess my looks. Always calculating the value of beauty.

Not that I didn't know what a boon looks could be. Of course I was the most beautiful girl in my circle of friends and beyond, forever being complimented on my golden hair, my unusually bright, violet eyes, my graceful, slim fingers, and so on. It was on my fourteenth birthday, when I had unaccountably grown into my height and filled out with the curves of a lady that I knew their power. Until then I had just been a girl, cute as a button but shy and a bit awkward. My mother petted me. My dear father brought me whatever treats I desired, a simple pout directed toward him could bring a kitten for my lap, a new fan for my hands, or flowers to grace my room. However, all that changed. Suddenly I was not cute but stunning, not a pet but a prize. It took little time for me to see that I was no longer a child. I was a ticket. A ticket to a better life for my parents.

Conversations were not about how I spent time with my friends, but instead turned to how I was keeping my skin soft and luminous, the right heel height to appeal without appearing bold, and of course, how to find the right man, accomplished, wealthy, and well acquainted with those in the best circles. My beauty opened doors to the upper echelons of Rochester society and mother and father saw they could ride that knowledge to the top. Every time I walked out the door my destination and my appearance were scrutinized. I was lectured unceasingly on the importance of appearance in our society. I was provided private instruction on how to best care for my skin and glide rather than walk. My mother drilled the principles into me. The most beautiful women garnered the most powerful and rich husbands, ensuring the most comfortable life. I was born with beauty and so was expected to make the best catch.

Though these new lessons were tiresome, I hardly minded. If I was to make a good marriage, I could live in luxury my whole life. I wouldn't have to do the chores that I remembered mother doing when I was young. Despite her efforts to ingratiate herself into the high society groups, she could not hide all evidence of her origin. Even in her sitting room she hid her hands behind gloves, ashamed of the impact of years of clothes washing. Mine were pale, soft, perfect. Why should I not live better than my mother, the life my beauty promised?

"You do look lovely, Rosalie," Mrs Landip said warmly, as her eyes calculated the changes in my appearance. "You seem to have grown even more beautiful since I last saw you at the Ladies Society Autumn Social."

"Ah, well, we do need to be careful," Mother said to Mrs. Landip conspiratorially. "Now that Rose has grown so much, we wouldn't want our precious girl to be caught up with the wrong sort."

"Of course you should be careful!" Mrs. Landip replied. "Any offers I should know about?" She evaluated mothers face carefully for any reaction.

"Oh, not yet," Mother said airily, waving her hand as if to ward off an unpleasant aroma. "Of course our Rosalie is not even sixteen. You would, of course, be the first to know should any _eligible_ offers come along."

"Ah, well then," Mrs. Landip sat back, mollified for the moment.

 _Honestly_ , I thought, _did it take so little to satisfy the woman?_

"Of course the worst outcome would be an inappropriate match. Now, do continue," Mother leaned in surreptitiously. "What were you saying about young Vera Summers?"

"Vera?" I blurted, startled to hear the name of my best friend as the subject of this odious woman.

"Why of course, my dear," Mrs. Landip smiled, a predatory glint in her eyes as she evaluated my reaction. "She was engaged just last Friday to that Carson boy, the _carpenter_. Can you imagine? Judy and Richard seem pleased as punch, but she's not yet seventeen! I can imagine what might be causing so _hasty_ a matrimony. A pity it is to such a...well..." she trailed off, good manners supposedly preventing her from saying further, though her tone clearly implied her view on the couple.

"Anyway," she caught her stream of conversation again. "That will be nothing like the lovely Rosalie's prospects." She smiled at me, her teeth seeming to me bared and hostile, as though gossip were a feast she would eat right through. It took all my training to keep the shock off my face.

Vera! Engaged! It was true she had spoken of her admiration for Frank Carson, but I had dismissed it as a childish fantasy given his state in life. She was of the middle class, just as I was, but had enough beauty to turn a few eyes. Of course her comely deep brown hair and eyes were nothing to mine, but we contrasted each other well as we charmed the society ladies since we were fourteen. To have allowed her prospects to sink so low at such a young age after all that work was appalling. Though she was six months older than me, we had believed the world at our fingertips. I was stunned that she had acted on it when the only life she could expect was one of hard labor and minimal rewards. She could have moved in society and, with a little patience, a more appropriate match.

"Rosalie?" my mother said shrilly, both her and Mrs. Landip looking at me expectantly for an answer to a question I had missed.

"No, of course not, mother," I answered hurriedly, covering my silence. "I would never dream of acting in such a manner."

Mother squinted at me sternly, critically evaluating whether I was telling the truth before nodding almost imperceptibly. Of course they would want me to renounce Vera entirely. She had acted in opposition to everything my mother and father expected of me, actions that would benefit them as well. The only direction my mother could see was up. Vera was now several steps down in her perception.

"Very well," mother said coolly, her eyes never leaving my face. "You may go with your friends. But do ensure you have returned by supper. Six o'clock sharp." She looked pointedly at me. As if I could forget that it had been a cardinal sin since I was old enough to stand to sit down to supper at 6:01. I stood smoothly and sank into a small curtsy, bowing my head at Mrs. Landip before making a swift exit. In order to get out the door, I could not leave any room for movement, or risk being drawn into hours of discussions about my prospects while I was expected to coo with delight over every man who had a few dollars to his name.

I pulled on my white kid leather gloves and did up the buttons on my deep blue coat as I pondered mother's words. How could Vera be engaged? And I the last one to know!

I called to Jeffreys, our driver, to bring the car around. Minutes later, snug in the back of our Chrysler, I gazed out the window at the snow-covered streets, the small children romping in the snow to celebrate the start of their winter holiday. As I drove the short distance to Montgomery's, frustration rose within me as I considered my friend's news. While I was satisfied to know that whatever match I made would be above her level, mother would hardly allow otherwise, there was still a lurking frustration. I did not like to be outdone, and she was now the focus of conversation, the first in my group of friends to secure a fiancé while I was not yet out in society.

Clutching the coat tighter to my body I shook this thought from my head. If the other girls were distracted by this news, I would simply have to try harder. After all, it should not take too much effort to allure a young man that outshone the rest. Then Vera would regret her haste and admire my choice. I would also have to guarantee that my debut events were more spectacular than the likes of anyone in Rochester had seen. Though my mother believed that such an important event could not be rushed until I had been full out in society already, I knew that she was holding on to it as an excuse to turn down ineligible suitors. However, if ladies of my society were getting engaged, I could hardly wait until I was eighteen to become eligible. I was seventeen in March and could officially start planning my debut. My mother could hardly refuse me in the knowledge that an eligible offer may slip away. I would raise the issue without delay.

Now my mind turned to more important thoughts. What color kid gloves would best offset my attire?

The night of the ball turned out to be cold and clear. Last night's blizzard, with snow swirling past the windows and the house creaking in protest, had worried me that the streets would be impassable in time for tonight's event, but thankfully my fears were unfounded.

Nine hours of preparation found me primped, rouged, stockinged, and snug in my green silk with pale pink elbow-length gloves to complement the rosy tone of my skin. Mother circled me slowly in the foyer, our maid Nancy trailing behind, awaiting any last minute instructions. A day of light eating and ongoing beautification ensured that while slightly lightheaded, I would certainly be the beauty of the ball. Excitement tingled through my body as I considered the forthcoming appreciation. It was the first social engagement that would allow me to be truly noticed for the young woman I was rather than the girl I had been. Though I was not fully out in society, the process of attracting attention to myself was beginning. Like preparing prize horses for the auction, I thought wryly.

"Stand up straighter, Rosalie," Mother commanded, bringing my mind back to the present. "You do not want all the young gentlemen appalled by your stooped figure." She moved to my back, snapping her fan at my ramrod straight back.

"Your hair will do," she forced out through pursed lips. "Though for heaven's sake, Nancy, ensure those curls by her ears are properly pinned. We wouldn't want her to look disheveled after the first dance!" Nancy rushed to add pins to my elaborate hairstyle, a modern knot at the nape of my neck.

"There now," she finished her rotation, satisfied with the result. "You do your father and I credit." She stopped and looked up at me, and I thought for a second that I saw a break in her crystal façade as a hint of emotion touched her face looking at me. She quickly turned away and motioned to Nancy to fetch our fur stoles.

"Now I want you to remember your responsibility tonight," she said firmly, locking away any emotion she might feel in the face of fear that I might disgrace myself. "Do not get carried away by the excitement and for pity's sake do not sample the punch. Ensure you help Miriam Hoffman with the decorations. She may be an odious, gossiping daughter of a Jewess, but her husband has brilliant connections. I will be engaged all evening, but I expect you not moon over young gentlemen as I see your friends do. You would think the ladies had no training or breeding at all with their forward glances! Your father and I expect more of you."

I rather doubted my father would notice whether I danced the foxtrot half clothed with the serving men, but was too excited about the ball to risk making a comment that might see me waiting the night in my room, outfit and hair lavished only on my mirror.

Mother fastened her mink around her shoulders, examining her reflection in the hall mirror. Pulling her gloves even more firmly up her arms, she sighed, "You're still so young Rosalie, no need to act in haste and repent in leisure."

As she had finally risen in society enough to be graced a position on the organizing committee, I knew she would have her hands filled with opportunities to build her acquaintance with the well-to-do guests, but that I also must be on my best behavior. If mother did not catch a potential indiscretion in any way associated with me, it was as sure as day that one of society ladies would find a fault in my breeding to lord over mother.

So, naturally, after divesting myself of my cloak, I made a beeline for Mrs. Hoffman and offered myself as the daughter she never had, peppering her with enough compliments on her dress and decorating taste that she could hardly contain her delight. After moving around a few flowers already positioned in a vase and admonishing a servant that a candlestick was an inch too far from the center of the table, I was granted release between Mrs. Hoffman's raptures.

I quickly spotted Bonnie and Shirley and plastered a smile on my face, ensuring they saw and came to me. I lightly grasped their hands in greeting, then took the lead as we walked through the glittering crowd. We were all thrilled to be allowed to attend our first of the city's society balls, though I had been careful to pass it off as nothing at all, a rather commonplace affair, which easily earned their admiration as the event had loomed. As they chattered and critiqued the attire of each guest, I looked through the crowd to see if I could spot Vera. How had that busybody Mrs. Landip discovered her betrothal before me? Vera and I were almost sisters, we were so close, but I had not been the one to whom she had expressed her excitement. Did I rate so low in her eyes?

"Look at that garish red on Mrs. Jamison!" screeched Bonnie. Her gloved hand fluttering up to her mouth. "Have you ever seen such a spectacle?"

"And her girdle at least two sizes too small," tittered Shirley. "Look! You can see her skin bulging over the top as she attempts to hide her weight gain!"

"I hear that she has gained _twenty pounds_ in the last two months!" Bonnie replied quickly, looking at me eagerly to gauge my reaction.

"Well no wonder with all the rumors about Mr. Jamison that are floating around," Shirley replied, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

"Come now girls," I said sharply, looking pointedly at them. "It is unbecoming to gossip." The tittering girls pulled up short, chastened. Indulgently I continued, "And since Mr. Jamison cannot do without his wife's inheritance, I don't see why she should be at all alarmed!"

Delighted, the girls giggled behind their hands and starting throwing out more pointed barbs at different guests. I pretended to listen and occasionally smiled, though quickly grew bored with their perspective. While it was always nice to be the queen bee, it did grow rather tiring to put up with their tattle.

As we strolled, women kept pausing to grasp my hand and enviously eye my hair and skin. I allowed my eyes to wander over the well-dressed men, returning their appreciative gazes with a coy smile and demure glance through my eyelashes. Still, I could not do any more than be pleased in their appreciation. It would not do to send the wrong signals so long before my ball. Mother had expressly prohibited me from dancing tonight.

"A young girl at her first dance can only appear desperate if they take up a partner," she had directed me last week as she watched me parade back and forth with two books balanced on my head. "How can the young gentlemen appreciate you when you occupy yourself with only one? No need to devote yourself so soon."

While I understood my mother's sentiment, appearing the perfect elusive beauty, I sighed as I watched the slowly filling dance floor from the second floor stairs. While the girls chattered, their words swirling around without any assistance from me, my lips pursed as I considered what I could not yet have. The couples glided smoothly, following the dulcet tones of the band as the music floated over the roses and candlelight. As I watched, I realized that one couple drew the eye more than most. As I watched them whirl, his blonde hair captured the light perfectly, while her gentle adoring smile at him highlighted her breathtaking beauty. I glanced around the room and saw I was not the only one that had been captivated by the couple. Women and men no longer noticed me, they were focused entirely on the graceful pair. They were the epitome of refinement, the quintessence of youth and beauty.

Immediately I was furious. Who was this young pair that drew the attention of every eye? I had not noticed them until now but now that I saw them, I could not look away. Was tonight not mine? Had I not prepared and waited for the night of my society entrance? I had tasted the promise of the future, feeling that credit I was due, and then it was snatched away.

As I seethed silently, holding my smile in place with effort, the song finished. They smiled to each other as if in a world of their own, and politely applauded the band before moving off, talking in voices too soft for me to hear from my high vantage point. Just as before, all eyes moved with them.

Their beauty nagged at me. There was something I was missing. Then it clicked in my mind. Of course this was Dr. Cullen and his wife. I had heard mother and her friends talk endlessly of the good looking young surgeon who saved lives but unfortunately was married and spent much of his free time alone with his young bride. I had even met Mrs. Cullen a few years ago in the course of society duties. Mother had been quite fixated, talking about her grace and poise as a model for me. I had remembered her beauty and my irritation and how unconscious she seemed of her impact. Though mother had pursued an acquaintance, seeing in their aloofness an opportunity to finally gain the upper hand, I was secretly pleased that they had proven to be uninterested.

"Rosalie, are you quite alright?" Bonnie asked nervously. I realized I had been glaring after them, filled with vexation at the turn of events this night.

I quickly smoothed out my face. "Of course, my dear," I cooed back, forcing a smile. "Only a minor irritation in how neglectful the servants have been in distributing the refreshments." Her face lightened as she gleefully prepared to abuse the hired help. "Do excuse me," I interrupted before she could begin. "I believe my mother is seeking an audience." Sparing a smile for them I glided away.

Of course I had no intention of putting myself in the clutches of my mother's circle so made a slow turn around the room. I tried to regain my sense of excitement from earlier in the evening but it would not do. Perhaps a damp towel would wake me up. I moved toward the lavatory, pausing to take a deep breath and calm my face should there be ladies lying in wait for me in the powder room.

Pushing through the door I was momentarily distracted by the beauty of the room. Gilded mirrors on cream walls bespoke the elegance of the room. Soft towels in wicker baskets beckoned to the wealthy ladies allowed to dry their hands in such wealth. I walked over to a mirror, pulling my shoulders back and examining my face. Nothing seemed amiss. If anything I looked natural in such a setting, a belle embedded in luxury. I tried a smile as my stomach finally unclenched and saw my face transform into the ticket my parents sough. The beautiful Mrs. Cullen could not compare to me.

The pull of a commode chain shocked me out of my reverie. I had thought I was alone and gasped, whirling toward the tall stalls that had hidden my company. I was prepared to provide a broad smile when I saw that it was her. Mrs. Cullen.

Emotions tumbled through my breast. She was so much more beautiful in our close quarters. Her caramel hair tumbled down around her shoulders as if every curl had been carefully placed. Her body in stillness was fluid and held up with perfect posture. Her face was so classically beautiful, her ivory cheeks gleaming off the glow of the electric chandeliers. Even the slight shadows under her eyes and the uncomfortable expression on her face as she looked away from me did nothing to diminish.

Frustration coursed through me as I noted the ruby at her throat, a deep red against her pale skin. She shifted her weight, raising the arm holding her clutch and I noted an unusual silver bracelet on her arm. Where would she have gotten such a trinket? Why would she ever accompany rubies with silver? And yet, even if her taste was off, she made the combination natural. My eyes darted back to her face, still uncomfortably looking at the ground.

"You must be Rosalie," she whispered hesitantly, eyes darting to mine and away just as quickly. My eyes widened, did she remember me from my mother's graceless introduction a few years ago? "I don't believe we've ever been formally introduced. I'm Esme Cullen." She finished, raising her eyes to meet mine. Immediately I looked away. Esme, what a strange name. And yet so beautiful.

Anger and frustration filled me again. A beautiful name, a beautiful face, a beautiful husband. How was she allowed to have all these things? I was infuriated by all that she had attained seemingly without a thought or effort.

She shifted her weight and moved toward the wash basin and I realized I was glaring at her. I tried to resettle my feelings and once again regain my composure. At least I could take comfort in my attire, so much finer than her simple unembroidered dress. I ran my hand absentmindedly over the flowers on the shoulder of my dress as she washed her hands and reached for a towel.

"It's a pleasure," I replied brusquely. I held myself erect as I remembered my lessons. She turned gracefully, as if still in the center of the ballroom and I was distracted immediately as she smiled. Her smile lit up her face, moving her beyond beautiful to unforgettable. She offered her hand and I felt the blood leave my face. How could I ever compete with such a one as she?

Unable to keep my composure, I turned away, rushing to the stall for some way, any way, to escape her. I heard the door shut softly as she made her exit and finally allowed myself to succumb to angry tears. With a beauty like hers around, it would no longer do to just be beautiful.

I must be irresistible.

I must win.


End file.
